


A Moment's Peace

by edibleflowers



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Post-Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staya Lavellan copes with the revelations of the Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment's Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just some fluff masquerading as a sort of post-epilogue thing. I was originally going to attempt to do this as a siriusdraws-style comic, but I've never been good at finishing comics. And this way no one has to be subjected to my terrible attempts at drawing Cullen. Mostly I just wanted to explore Staya's reactions to what happened. These notes are going to be longer than the fic if I keep rambling.
> 
> Some screencaps of Staya can be seen [on my Tumblr](http://ghostoftheyear.tumblr.com/post/114743074259/staya-lavellan-first-character-created-for-dai%0A).

Istayalaevna Lavellan didn't remember much of the trip back through the eluvians, stumbling steps through the bright ruins full of stone Qunari, through the Darvaarad and the Crossroads with its confusing changing paths. Her arm wasn't hurting anymore; that much was true. But her balance was off and she kept grasping at the missing part of her arm as if it was still there, and in the end Iron Bull scooped Staya up and carried her rather than let her continually stumble while insisting she was all right to walk.

By the time they stepped back through the mirror that led to the Winter Palace, Staya felt cold all over. She knew something was wrong in the way Cullen rushed forward toward them, Leliana and Josephine right behind him. The faces of all three were etched in worry, but Cullen's eyes, fraught and dark, made Staya's heart clench. Behind her, she heard the mirror's strange hum stop as Dorian and Varric stepped through: the magic keeping the eluvian open had suddenly ended.

"I-inquisitor?" Josephine asked. Her voice shook a little. As Iron Bull set her down, Staya wondered just how awful she looked to make Josephine sound so startled.

"It's done," she said. "It's over." She swayed forward a step, then two. The floor rose up to catch her, but -- somehow -- Cullen got there first, and the last memory she had was of the feel of the crisp fabric of his jacket and the smell of mabari.

* * *

She woke gradually to a bright light pressing against her eyelids. Staya raised a hand against the painful brightness, or tried to: her arm felt strange, the weight of it wrong. She inhaled hard as memory came back all at once, and with it, an awareness that her entire body ached; the last few fights, especially against that Qunari mage, had been some of the hardest of her life.

"Easy, love, easy." Cullen's voice was close, and a moment later, he was there next to her, a comforting, solid presence gathering her in. 

Staya fought the sob that threatened to rise to her throat, swallowed it back. "How long was I asleep?" she asked instead.

"Only the night," Cullen said. He'd settled behind her, a substitute pillow bracing her up. "We did what we could, but..."

"I know. It's gone." She made herself look down at her arm. Someone -- Cullen, she hoped -- had changed her clothes, put her in one of her simple night shifts, and her bare left arm rested above the counterpane. The sight wasn't as bad as she'd feared it to be, at least. She still had the joint; below that, the remaining part of her forearm was wrapped in linen bandages, though she didn't think there had been any bleeding. Solas's magic had neatly severed it.

Her throat worked again, and despite herself, she heard a low moan emerge from her mouth. 

"Love," Cullen said, and Staya turned her head and pressed her forehead to his chest. One of his hands stroked her far shoulder, the other cupping the back of her head as gently as if he held an infant.

"I'm all right," she said, though her voice wouldn't stay steady now. "It's all right. At least the Anchor's gone now."

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

She managed, in halting tones, to get the story out. She hadn't had time to report back after the Darvaarad -- everything had happened too quickly -- so the news that Solas _was_ Fen'Harel came as a bit of a shock. The humble apostate mage who had seemed so kind and helpful, helping with research, painting the murals on the walls at Skyhold -- how could he be an ancient elf from time beyond human reckoning? They'd all trusted him. 

"He wants to unmake the world," she said at last. Her tones were calm once more; telling the story had helped a great deal. "He created the Veil, separated the Fade from the world. And maybe it was for a good reason, if what he says is true and the Evanuris, the Elvhen gods, were really power-mad kings." Her hand drifted up to touch her forehead just for a moment, where the branching vallaslin representing Mythal had been tattooed in her youth. 

"We can't let that happen," Cullen murmured, his hand gently stroking back her hair.

"No." She tilted her head up to look at him, her lips taut for a moment. "But I don't want to fight him, either. He was our friend. My friend. Despite being Fen'Harel, he genuinely helped us. Gave us Skyhold. He involved himself in the world. I have to think I can change his mind about what he wants to do."

She wasn't surprised to feel Cullen stiffen a little against the headboard. "That will have to be a discussion for another day," was all he said, though, and before she could protest, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Glancing up at Cullen, confused, Staya called, "Come in!" A moment later, the door opened and Josephine's head poked in.

"I was sent to see if the Inquisitor is feeling better, and I see you are." Josephine sounded bright and cheery -- perhaps a little too much so. Undoubtedly, the Council was putting pressure on her to produce the object of their inquiry. _Creators forbid I take a moment to recover from losing my fucking arm_ , she thought, sighing.

"I assume my presence is being required?" she said, managing to only sound slightly arch.

"Well," Josephine said, somehow filling the word with diplomatic tact. "After everything that has happened with the Qunari..."

"And they won't accept a report from anyone but me. I know." Staya sighed, pushing herself a little more upright, and gave Josephine a brief smile. "Let them know I'll be there as soon as I have prepared myself."

Once the door was closed again, she sank against Cullen, closing her eyes and abandoning the veneer of leadership she'd briefly managed to summon. "I don't want to talk to them, Cullen," she muttered.

"I know, love," he said. "But come on. I'll help you get dressed and get you something to eat, and once you've faced them, we'll... we'll get away from here. Go wherever you want."

"I can dress--" she started, and then looked down at her shortened left arm again. Could she dress herself? How would she cut the meat on her plate when she ate? How would she read books or mount a horse or -- 

She'd never hold a dagger in each hand again, slyly approaching an enemy from behind to take them out before they even saw her. She'd never string a bow or fletch an arrow again. She wouldn't be able to braid her hair or knit or sharpen her knives -- or track down Solas. The future she'd begun to envision: laying down her responsibility as Inquisitor, being Cullen's wife, having children with him -- it was all dust and ash now.

For the first time since Solas had magically burned away both the Anchor and her arm, Staya Lavellan put her head down and cried, hard, until her eyes burned and her chest hurt from weeping. Through it all, Cullen held her to him.

* * *

Somehow, she summoned the energy to let Cullen help her get dressed in her formal clothing one last time. She leaned on him down the wide, shallow steps from their guest suite to the ballroom- _cum_ -hall of judgment where the Council awaited her; before they entered the room, she took the tome Leliana held out to her in her good right hand, then straightened, walking stiff-backed and tall as she could, into the room.

She let anger fortify her, give her strength to tell the Exalted Council that the Inquisition had done what it had been formed to do. Divine Victoria's smile was warm, gracious (how far they had come from that first moment when Cassandra accused her of killing Divine Justinia and everyone else at the Temple of Sacred Ashes); Josephine looked calm, as if she'd fully expected Staya to end the Inquisition there and then. Only the nobles gasped in shock and surprise at the announcement. Without pausing to gauge the reactions of the Council or those gathered to watch, Staya turned, almost on her heel, and walked out again.

She'd been under their scrutiny long enough. She'd never wanted the responsibility, even though she'd accepted and done the best she could with it. Now, at last, she could stop caring what they thought of her.

"Am I to assume," Leliana murmured, falling into step with her outside the room, "that you have given some thought to my suggestion?"

Staya let the slightest smile lift the corners of her mouth. "What do you think?"

"It won't be easy." The spymaster matched Staya's smile with an equally coy one of her own. "We must find a quiet place of operations, to start."

"I'll let you worry about that." Staya's right hand went to her left arm, absently rubbing at the pinned-up sleeve of her jacket. "We have time now, and I have to... I need to work on getting used to this."

At the door that led out into the main hall of Halamshiral, Leliana paused. The only guards stood further down the corridor or outside the heavy door; here, they could speak quietly without fear of being overheard or observed.

"I already have a place in mind," Leliana murmured. "But it will take some work to rebuild, and in the meantime..." Her smile gentled, a genuine warmth to it Staya had never seen before. "Take your new husband and go somewhere peaceful. When we are ready to begin the search in earnest, I will find you."

Surprising herself, Staya reached out and tugged Leliana into a brief, warm hug -- as best she could with one whole arm, at any rate. Leliana hesitated a moment before relaxing into the embrace, and whether it was genuine or feigned, Staya didn't care. "Thank you," she murmured as she stepped back.

* * *

"I must admit I'm surprised," Cullen said, his smile wry as he turned away from the window at last.

"Why?" Done arranging the bedclothes -- as best she could, anyway -- Staya turned and sat on the mattress, watching her husband. He'd prowled around the cabin, inspected every inch of it, before deciding that it was acceptable. Staya hoped it was the beautiful view of the lake that had won him over; she'd spent quite a bit of gold purchasing the cabin, and more to have it restored and cleaned after bandits had abandoned the place.

"Oh, I just didn't think you had particularly good memories of Crestwood." Shrugging off his jacket, Cullen set it aside and came to sit down on the bed next to her. Inevitably, Bear followed, but at a stern glance from Cullen, the huge mabari settled on the floor next to them, rather than on the bed where he clearly wanted to be.

"I have lovely memories of Crestwood," Staya retorted, smiling. "Killing a dragon, closing rifts, slaughtering undead..." Cullen's smile widened, and she reached for his hand to thread their fingers together. "And coming here with you. The coin you gave me, I keep it with me still."

"Oh." Now Cullen's eyes were warm with amusement and that hint of shy affection she adored. "Well, I have to admit I have a few fond memories of my own here."

"Perhaps we'll make a few more," she said, her throat working a moment. 

"I think you can count on that." Cullen's smile as he leaned in to kiss her was all Staya could see.

* * *

Later, in darkness lit only by a fire in the hearth across the room, Staya curled in against Cullen's side, exhaling in a satisfied way.

"I have to admit," she murmured, "I..."

She trailed off, and after a moment, Cullen pushed himself over a little so that he could see her face in the cabin's dimness. "What, love?" he asked.

Swallowing, Staya tilted her eyes up to meet his. "I suppose I was a little worried you wouldn't want me now. Now that." She lifted her shortened left arm briefly, then let it settle across his chest again. The bandages were gone now; he touched the smooth skin of her upper arm, then let his fingers drift down, past the joint, to where the arm simply ended in a smooth rounded stump.

Staya bit her lip, but Cullen shook his head, making sure she was watching him. "I love you," he said, low and sure. " _You_. This changes nothing. I was afraid that someday the Anchor would -- would kill you, would take you from me long before I had the chance to show you how much I loved you. You're still you, and as long as I still have you with me, that's all I need."

"Cullen," she whispered, throat thick with emotion, and pushed up to kiss him again.


End file.
